


Something Old, Something New

by Hideous_Sun_Demon



Category: Sunnyside (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Halloween Ep, Humour, Mallory being the voice of reason, Sibling Love, as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-13 03:20:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21487498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hideous_Sun_Demon/pseuds/Hideous_Sun_Demon
Summary: All things considered, Mallory liked this new Halloween.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	Something Old, Something New

**Author's Note:**

> So I’m the first person to write fic for this show huh? Oddly freeing, considering it’ll be read by like 3 people tops lmao

When Garrett had told Mallory yesterday that he was throwing a Halloween party, she should have known that somehow, at some point, it would involve the hijacking of her apartment.

Mostly, she was impressed by how quickly he’d managed to transform the place. There were streamers on every wall, a HAPPY HALLOWEEN banner strung up, and just way too many paper bats stuck all over that she definitely didn’t own. Judging by the fact that Garrett had abandoned his dorky Wall Street wannabe look for an even dorkier attempt at Danny Zuko, this had something to do with Hakim, but Mallory still had questions. Actually, that fact alone gave her even more questions, because, well, really?

Garrett, predictably, was utterly unhelpful. She got a couple of questions in—how the hell did he carve all these jack-o-lanterns so fast, for instance? (“_Hakim is good with his hands”_), and why was Garrett now copying someone else’s costume? (“_Shut up, Mallory, matching costumes are cool!”_). But anything about why the party had shifted—or actually, why he was even here in the first place; she’d seen him chasing after his old ‘crew’ a couple hours back and assumed that would be the last she’d see of him all night—would only get her a dismissive hand wave.

Mallory tried three times before deciding that she really didn’t care. Here, at least, she was free from drunken Chernobyl workers trying to dance with her, and wasn’t that what truly mattered?

The stream of trick-or-treaters had trickled away to nothing. It was getting too late for little kids. (Well, Garrett claimed that it was because her bowl of raisins had gotten their apartment blacklisted, but what did he know? Kids loved snacks that were fun _and_ healthy). The party had slowed to a leisurely sort of lull. Mallory liked it that way, honestly, but Hakim—still picking idly through the candy bowl—wore an anxious twist to his lips; like he could feel energy leeching out the door, like he was anxious they were all going to have to follow. Amazingly, Garrett seemed to notice. And care.

“_Shots_,” was his immediate suggestion to the group, and Mallory rolled her eyes at him. He made a face back at her, but Hakim didn’t look particularly enthused—and Brady looked spectacularly green—so he didn’t push it. Hakim brought up apple bobbing again, but they’d left the barrel at the bar, and when Garrett suggested using the bathtub Mallory threw a pillow at his head. 

It was Griselda who suggested just putting on a horror movie—it was what she always used to do with Erik when he was a kid, apparently, and ways to entertain twelve years olds seemed “_applicable to this situation,_” which—well, was fair. Brady, slouched in the armchair, perked up, eyes gleaming and already reaching for the remote—“_there’s a tonne of good stuff on Netflix, I’ll show you; actually, you can just give me your password and I’ll do it on my phone, it’ll be easier..._”

“Are you sure?” Hakim had lit up at the suggestion, wearing his own jack-o-lantern grin which, paired with the tousled mess of his Zuko hairdo, was oddly charming, but his tone was dubious as he eyed Brady. “When we went to see Hereditary, you went to the bathroom twelve times.”

“Uh, yeah, because I needed to pee,” Brady scoffed, eyes darting furiously. “_Duh_.”

Hakim’s brows furrowed. “...Do you have a urinary tract infection—?”

“I can watch scary movies, okay?” Brady burst out, and Griselda pressed a fist to her mouth to hide a smirk. “I mean, Ghostbusters, am I right? Or The Nightmare Before Christmas? Has nobody else heard of Beetlejuice?” He stuttered out a desperate laugh, glancing around for support. Exactly nobody came to his rescue, but Mallory shrugged, switching on the TV.

“Scary movie it is.”

After a solid fifteen minutes of bickering, they settled on It, which according to the twins’ set of criteria that Mallory couldn’t begin to fathom, somehow managed to fit the aesthetic of Glitter Inferno. Only the 1990 version though, because “_glitter inferno means vintage, guys, how are you not getting this?_” They wrestled to reconfigure themselves: Brady planted himself right in the centre of the couch, in a move that Mallory guessed was supposed to prove a point, and she quickly took the armchair he abandoned. Garrett called shotgun on one end of the couch at the same time that Griselda claimed the other one, daring anyone to challenge her with a glare that had them all looking away. The others were happy with the floor; Jun Ho and Mei Lin stretched out over the carpet, arms draped over each other—after seizing every pillow in the room to spread out underneath them, of course. Hakim ended up sitting on the floor, back leaning against Garrett’s legs. Her brother didn’t seem to mind.

Mallory lounged back, popping handfuls of raisins into her mouth as the film played. This, all of this, reminded her of Halloween growing up. Back when they were younger, before Garrett learned to weasel his way into the house parties of much cooler kids, they’d concocted their own celebrations. Their parents were doctors through and through, and after allowing them to select three pieces of their hard earned trick-or-treating candy, it’d all be locked in the top kitchen cabinet to be eaten slowly. In its stead they’d receive—of course—raisins. Fun and healthy.

This was, needless to say, unacceptable. 

Eventually, Mallory figured out how to pick the lock—not that she did it often, scaredy-cat that she was. Instead, they had a different form of rebellion: after their parents went to bed, they’d hole up in Garrett’s room and indulge in gratuitous violence instead, courtesy of the R rated movies Garrett would filch from the video store just for this occasion: throwing raisins into each other’s mouths as they watched the goriest slasher flicks he could find. 

(Mallory was pretty sure he picked those ones in a bid to scare her, but being an avid reader of her mother’s medical journals by age 11, the blood had never bothered her. She was always the one who ended up having to hold her brother’s hand during the worst parts.)

This was a laugh in comparison. Somebody ought to tell Brady. The kid had made it through an impressive 43 minutes, pale and sweating to the point where Mallory had considered getting him a bucket if only to protect her floor, before he gave in; burying his face in Griselda’s shoulder as Tim Curry crawled out of a shower drain onscreen. “Nope. Nope. Nopenopenopenope—“

“Aww, pobrecito.” Griselda managed to sound simultaneously motherly and mocking, patting Brady’s trembling shoulder. “You made a valiant effort.”

Brady let out a low, unintelligible moan that rang out an uncanny harmony with the deranged cackling coming from the TV—and the floor. Mallory glanced down. Jun Ho and Mei Lin had lost interest about 10 minutes in and were preoccupied with their phones, but Hakim, apparently, was having the time of his life.

She leaned towards Garrett. “Is Hakim...cheering on the clown murders?”

Garrett tilted his head; Hakim was whooping along with every scare, laughing even as he flinched. “It’s either that or the special effects,” he said wryly. “Not sure what’s more disturbing.” He nudged Hakim playfully wth his foot. “Weirdo.” 

It was strange, Mallory decided, seeing Garrett have normal friends. Well, normal perhaps wasn’t the right word—actually, the word for this bunch probably wasn’t in the same dictionary as normal—but still; she tried to picture Garrett just...staying in and curling up on the couch to watch a movie with his old crew. Nope, she just couldn’t see it. Well, maybe, if the movie was something gross.

That there was the operative word, really: Garrett had never really had any friends who weren’t _gross_. Before now, he’d either had morons who thought being able to do ten shots of tequila was a personality trait, or just Mallory. Nothing in between. 

Maybe this was what watching Garrett Modi grow up looked like.

They let the movie run its course, buoyed by a backing track of Hakim’s now occasional giggling, Brady’s quieting whimpers, and the slowing tap-tap-tap of the twins’ on their phones. By the time the credits rolled for Part 1, the loudest sound in the room was Brady’s muffled snoring, his face still pressed into the collar of Griselda’s space suit. The only indication that Griselda herself was still awake was the unconscious fluttering of her fingers, up and down, against the back of Brady’s head; her eyes had drifted closed. On the floor, Mei Lin was curled up like a cat with her cheek riding the rise and fall of Jun Ho’s chest as he murmured something indistinct about pancakes. Even Hakim was dozing, temple resting against Garrett’s knee, glasses slipping dangerously close to the tip of his nose.

Mallory switched the TV off. Rolling her head languidly, she watched her brother blink blearily at the dark screen. He wasn’t sleeping, but he’d slid down against the cushions, stupid Zuko jacket bunching up behind him. He noticed her watching hm, but didn’t bother to straighten up.

“Hey,” he mumbled. “What happened with your Tindr comrade?”

Mallory’s nose wrinkled. She’d almost forgotten about Todd. “Ugh, I sent him home.”

Garrett grinned sleepily. “Catfished again?”

“Okay, first of all, that’s only happened, like, _three_ times—“ 

_Ouch_, Garrett mouthed. Mallory considered the merits of chucking another pillow at his head. The only thing that saved him was his forcefield of sleeping friends around him, acting as would-be collateral damage. Huh, maybe she did prefer it when he was sad and alone.

“And no, actually,” she continued, conceding her pillow to her lap. “He was very attractive. But he also thought vaccines made people gay, so...”

“Yeesh.” Garrett fell quiet again. It wasn’t like him. His eyes travelled around the room, soaking in the remnants of the evening. Every few moments, a look of almost-surprise flickered across his face; like he couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten here.

Honestly, it was still something Mallory was trying to figure out herself. She toyed with the cushion zipper, pinning him with an appraising gaze. “What about the douche crew?” she asked, and waited for the deflection.

This time, there wasn’t one. Garrett’s lips twitched. “Uh...they’re probably still living it up at the club. It’s nearly—“ he checked his watch—“12, so they’ve probably committed a couple felonies by now.”

Mallory huffed out a laugh. “You didn’t want in on that?”

“Nah.” Garrett flapped his hand, smiling lopsidedly. Always been good at faking it, hadn’t he? Well, not with her. These plastic moods were always a little to large; too much the politician. She raised an eyebrow, and he dropped his gaze, mouth tightening as he stared down at Hakim’s messy head of hair resting against him. “I think,” he said slowly, “they really wanted my name, and not so much...me.” He shrugged.

That got a snort out of Mallory. “So the overgrown frat boys turned out to be assholes,” she remarked dryly. “Who knew.” 

Her brother cringed. Just a little, but self consciousness had never been a colour Garrett often wore, so now it blared from his face like a neon sign. Mallory pressed her lips together guiltily. Uncurling herself from the armchair, she reached with one socked foot—carefully, not wanting to disturb Hakim—to bat softly at his leg. “Hey,” she said. “At least Garrett Modi can still throw a _pre-etty_ awesome party.”

He smirked half heartedly. “I mean, that’s just a given.” 

There was a sleepy murmur from the floor, and as Garrett watched Hakim shift, Mallory watched Garrett.

“You look thoughtful,” she said. “Which is scary.”

After a second, he tipped his head back to rest against the back of the couch. “Things are different now, right? Better, I think. These guys are, anyway,” he said, frowning, feeling out each word instead of letting them pour out like usual as his gaze travelled from Hakim, to Brady and Griselda, to the twins, and finally to her. “But it’s not how it used to be, and there’s no changing that. I think tonight was the first time I realised that properly.” He chuckled. “Which is...stupid, considering a nationwide political scandal is pretty obviously something that, y’know, changes things, but...” Garrett shook his head wryly. “The old Garrett Modi isn’t back, and I guess he won’t ever be.”

Mallory stared, silent for a long moment. “Garrett—“ she started, then stopped. She kind of wanted to roll her eyes at him—chastising was almost muscle memory for her, just like moping was for him. But this wasn’t his usual whining, this tone. He was looking at her, expectant, big eyed, and suddenly it really was like they were ten again, and she was squeezing his hand to stop him from shaking. _Moron_, she thought; fondly.

“I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with going back to who you used to be,” Mallory said finally; simply. “She leaned over to the coffee table and snagged another box of raisins, expertly popping it open. “I like the new you a whole lot more. Catch.”

Years of trained, prepubescent instincts never went away, and Garrett caught the five raisins she tossed his way perfectly, interrupting the startled smile that had spread across his face. It morphed into a grin as he chewed.

“Still the raisin-toss champion!” he crowed through his mouthful, and everything, all of a sudden, felt a lot more normal. Mallory faked a gag.

“Yeah, and you clearly still don’t know how to chew with your mouth shut, you gremlin.” She threw another one, this one aimed straight at his forehead. He caught it anyway, the asshole.

Some things never changed. 


End file.
